CLAIMED BY A HIGHLANDER (THE DOUGLAS LEGACY Book 2) (31 page)

“Tell me,” he said between clenched teeth. “Who had ye before I did?”

“Why does a man need to be first?” she said. “Was I yours?”

“Answer me, damn it,” he said. “I’ve a right to know why my bride wasn’t a virgin.”

“I was not a virgin,” she said, glaring up at him, “because I was married.”

“Married!” Rory fell back a step. His heart could not take any more. “Jesus, Joseph, and Mary, ye have a husband?”

“I
had
a husband,” she said. “We were wed a week when he died.”

Sybil was widowed. He tried to take it in. Well, that would explain why she was over twenty and unmarried. He waited for her to say more, but Sybil’s mouth was clamped shut.

“Is that all ye have to say about it?” he said. “Ye lied to me about being raped. For God’s sake, do ye know what that lie did to me?”

He had been torn apart with rage and misery imagining how her innocence was violently stolen from her. And her tale of rape had made him feel so ashamed for not being gentle with her that first time.

“I spoke the truth when I said ye were the first man I gave myself to freely.” Sybil stared past Rory’s shoulder as she spoke. “My grandfather had toppled a king and ruled our clan for fifty years. I was a pawn and not permitted to refuse the marriage he arranged for me.”

“An arranged marriage is no the same as rape,” Rory bit out.

“To a woman, I assure you, it can feel very much the same.”
She brushed past him and went to stand at the window with her back to him.

“Tell me the rest of it,” he demanded.

“Perhaps one day I will,” she said. “You’re not ready to listen now.”

He heard a catch in her voice. By the saints, she could twist him in the wind if he let her. Talking had brought him no satisfaction, but he had a good idea of what would.

“’Tis late,” he said, and pulled back the bedclothes. “We should go to bed.”

“We’re not both sleeping in this bed,” she said, folding her arms. “Not after the things ye said to me.”

“We’re man and wife. We don’t have to like each other to fook.” He deliberately used the crass word for what he had foolishly thought was an act of love between them. What a fool he had been.

“You’re not sleeping with me.” She tugged the extra blanket off the bed and tossed it across the floor.

“I’m chieftain,” he said. “I’m no sleeping on the floor.”

“There’s a servant’s pallet under the bed. Ye can use that,” she said. “But if ye prefer, ye can sleep in the hall and let all the men wonder what you’ve done to your new bride that she won’t have you.”

“Perhaps they’ll think I’m the one who won’t have you.” He knew that was a ridiculous argument even before she rolled her eyes.

“After all my efforts to persuade your clansmen that I’m worthy to be the MacKenzie’s wife and that you’ve made me
blissfully
happy,” she said, “it would be a shame to ruin it.”

“I don’t find your gift for deceiving an entire hall full of people reassuring.”

He pulled the pallet out from under the bed and fixed his gaze on her as he began unwinding his plaid.

She blew out the candle before he was bare-arsed. Apparently she was not as anxious to see him naked as he was to see her. He listened to the soft rustle of her removing her clothes and imagined her gown slipping off her shoulders and over her breasts… He was breathing hard long before the ropes holding the mattress creaked as she climbed into the big bed. No matter how much she had wronged him, he longed to feel her skin sliding over his, to move inside her, to hear her sighs and moans…

She was so quiet she must have fallen asleep, while he lay staring up at the ceiling with his feet hanging off the servant’s pallet and his cock painfully hard.

“Have ye not tortured me enough?” he said aloud into the darkness. “After making me your husband with your lies, you’ve no right to deny me our marriage bed.”

“After how it was between us before,” she said. “I’ll not have ye touching me when your heart isn’t in it.”

***

Sybil awoke to an empty room and fought the urge to draw the bedclothes over her head and weep. Instead, she dressed and steeled herself for a long day of pretending, for the benefit of their guests and household, that all was well between their chieftain and his new bride.

Before she had prepared herself, Rory came through the door and shut it behind him. Her heart swelled with unbridled hope.

“I apologize for my behavior last night,” he said. “Though I was sorely disappointed to discover ye were untrustworthy and a liar, there was no call for me to be rude.”

Sybil felt as if he had slapped her. “I know I was wrong, Rory, but ye judge me too harshly.”

“I could forgive ye for deceiving me in the beginning, before ye knew me,” he said. “But ye kept on lying to me. Every day for weeks ye continued to deceive me.”

There was no point in arguing or trying to explain again. And the way he was speaking to her was beginning to prick her temper.

“Like it or not, we’re wed now,” she said. “And I’ll not let ye set me aside.”

“I can do nothing now without looking a fool, and ye know it,” he said. “So for the time being, let’s attempt to get along as best we can.”

Without another word, he left her.

“Ye made vows to me, Rory Ian MacKenzie,” she said, though he could no longer hear her, “and I’m holding ye to them.”

CHAPTER 32

Rory’s mood did not improve as the days wore on. He could avoid seeing Sybil most of the day, but he still spent his nights on the floor. He was so tired from lack of sleep that he did not notice Alex approach him in the courtyard until his brother was beside him.

“I’m surprised to see ye out of bed,” Alex said, slapping him on the back. “You’re still a newlywed.”

“I’m also a chieftain with a great deal to accomplish.” Rory was not telling his blissfully married younger brother that he had no reason to stay in bed, which was still a pallet on the damned floor.

“I see,” Alex said. “Things are not well with you and that lovely wife of yours?”

“They’re fine,” Rory snapped. Alex was always too perceptive.

“That bad?” Alex said. “What have ye done?”

It irritated him that his brother assumed he was at fault. “I’m not prepared to discuss my wife with ye.”

“I’m a priest. I could hear your confession…”

“
Alex
,” he ground out. “Shouldn’t ye be at home with your own wife when she’s about to give birth?

“My wife assures me all is well, but I’ve come to fetch Grizel to have a look at her just the same,” he said. “If ye can spare him, Malcolm will come with us.”

“Of course.”

“While I’m here, Catriona and Grizel asked me to knock some sense into that stubborn head of yours,” Alex said. “I’m sure ye can work this out with Sybil. Ye do know that with women ye have to talk?”

“I’ve nothing to say to her,” Rory said. “And there’s nothing she can say to me that will make a damned bit of difference.”

“Ach, Rory.” His brother’s tone turned serious. “That’s no way to resolve it. But if ye don’t want to talk, try taking her to bed.”

Sybil had made it clear that was unlikely to happen anytime soon.

“Go home,” Rory said, and stomped off.

That night he lay awake again with his feet hanging off the too-small pallet and stared at the ceiling, while every fiber of his being was keenly aware of Sybil on the bed.

He could hear her breathing. He could almost feel her heartbeat.

It had been a week since their wedding night. Seven long days and longer nights. They could not go on like this much longer. At least he couldn’t. Celibate and married. He’d gotten the worst of both.

His body did not care that Sybil had deceived him or that he could never trust her again. Every muscle was tense, and his cock was rock hard. He wanted her so badly his teeth ached.

She was his wife. His bride. He needed to beget an heir. They had a duty, for God’s sake. Given Sybil’s passionate nature, she had to give in sometime. But
how long
would it take?

Sybil sighed, and he imagined her breath on his skin. Could his cock get any harder? He’d never sleep like this. He threw off the blanket and got up.

“Rory?”

Desire drenched him at the sound of the soft voice calling his name.

“Aye?” He was afraid to hope. Tension thrummed through him as he stood waiting.

He stopped breathing when he heard her get out of bed and walk lightly across the floor to him. Then she brushed her fingertip along the side of his hip, and he thought he would explode.

“Ach, Sybil,” he said. “Tell me this means you’ll let me have ye.”

***

Denying Rory her bed had not gained Sybil what she wanted and made them both miserable. She could only hope that by giving in to passion she could break through his barriers and force him to see her. In this battle to win back his heart, she feared he would break hers again. But she had to take the risk.

Because she simply could not bear another night without his touch.

“Sybil?” he said in a strained voice.

“Aye.” She barely got out the word before he hauled her up against him and crushed his mouth against hers.

The pent-up hunger of the last week exploded between them like grease on a hot fire. Their kisses were bruising, and his hands demanding as he backed her against the wall. When he lifted her off her feet, she clasped her legs around his hips. Her heart was racing, and her chest felt too tight to breathe. When she broke her mouth away, he sucked on the side of her neck. His hands were everywhere, prodding, kneading, squeezing.

At last. At last.
She wanted him so much.

“I need to taste you.” He dropped to his knees and gripped her hips.

She gasped as he thrust his tongue over the sensitive nub between her legs. No slow build, no teasing caresses. He was relentless with his mouth and tongue, circling and sucking. She leaned her head back against the wall, swamped by the raw intensity of the sensations coursing through her body. When she did not think she could stand any more, he began thrusting his finger inside her while he continued his sensuous assault with his mouth and tongue.

Her release came with such force that her knees gave way. He gave her no time to recover. In one smooth motion, he rose to his feet, wrapped her legs around him, and thrust inside her. His mouth ravaged hers, and she dug her nails into his shoulders as the tension inside her quickly peaked again.

“Ah! Ah! Ah!” She came in a rolling release as Rory pounded against her and spilled his seed on a last anguished cry.

It was over so quickly.

She was breathless and her heart pounded in her ears. After climaxes that left her weak and shaking, she could not say he had failed to satisfy her.

Yet when he pulled out of her, she felt bereft. There had not been one tender moment, not one whispered endearment. It was a physical act, the satisfying of a need, and it left her feeling hollow inside.

Rory had not spoken her name. She could have been anyone.

With no warning, she burst into tears. It was the last thing she wanted to do. When she tried to hide her face, Rory held her arms away.

He looked down at her with wild, feverish eyes. “Ye wanted it as much as I did. Ye came to me. Ye said
aye
.”

“I want it like it was before,” she whispered, and touched his cheek. “I love you.”

“That’s not fair, Sybil. Lie to me about anything else, but not that.” He backed away from her, shaking his head. “I can’t do this. I can’t.”

***

Rory had been gone for days when a priest arrived at the castle leading a mule.

Sybil only knew where Rory had gone because Catriona told her he was taking her to Killin to retrieve something hidden in the barn and to get the local men started on rebuilding the house.

Sybil thought nothing of seeing the stranger in priestly robes at supper that evening. Churchmen were always welcomed and given provisions when they stopped at noble houses on their journeys. She felt too low to engage him in conversation, as she usually would.

Long after she had blown out her candles and gone to bed, there was a knock at her door. Her first thought was that something had happened to Rory, but when she flung the door open, the strange priest was there.

“I was sent to give this to you.” He spoke in Lowland Scots, the language of home, which she had not heard in weeks.

She took the folded parchment he handed her. When she turned it over and recognized the seal, her hand went to her throat.

She glanced up and down the dimly lit stairwell. “You’d best come inside while I read it.”

She quickly lit a candle, broke the seal, and unfolded the parchment. A second message was enclosed inside the first.

She glanced up at the messenger. “How did ye get this?”

“Your uncle is my bishop,” he said. “As soon as he learned where you were, he sent me to deliver it to you.”